CHAPTER 1

If someone had told him that this would be his future, Harry would have certainly laughed in their face. When he was still at Hogwarts, he had never seriously thought about his future career. He didn't really think he would live enough to have one. He wanted to be an Auror, but never actually had a plan. Never lost much sleep trying to figure out a way to achieve it, or agonizing about how long it would take to get there.

If he could get there.

Was he good enough, did he have what it takes? Sure, he had a number of encounters with dark magic and if there was anything Voldemort taught him was how to act in stressful situations and keep your cool when all you want to do is panic.

But being an Auror was so much more.

Being good in Defence Against the Dark Arts helped but he had to really step up his game in Potions, learn basic healing, study the mind of criminals. It made sense. After all, understanding why people break the law, what makes them kill, torture or inflict pain was the key to catch them. He had to get a lot better at controlling his emotions too. Harry tended to be impulsive and, sometimes, that wasn't a good thing in this line of work. Most of the time it was better other people didn't know what he was thinking.

It was a lot of hard work but after three years of training, Harry was finally an Auror. He had been one for almost eight years. And it was amazing.

Except when it wasn't.

While he half-heard Mr. Walker tell in great detail (too much in Harry's opinion) how the Campbell's youngest son had – allegedly – stole his cat, Harry was thinking long and hard about his professional career and how he had whished somebody would've told him that it would be like this.

Dark forces didn't stop existing just because Voldemort was gone, but they sure toned down a bit. Harry had been involved in catching all the Death Eaters and associates of the Dark Lord. He also helped reform and revolutionise the Auror Department as long as the rest of the Ministry, riding it of all its corruption. Well, most of it.

Those times had been exciting. But time passed and there were no more Death Eaters to catch. Crimes happened a lot less frequently these days. Which was wonderful.

But also, incredibly boring.

And peace didn't mean less work. Actually, for a line of work so surrounded by action, Aurors sure had a lot of bureaucracy and paperwork to do. Which meant they were usually overworked people with no social life.

"It was the Campbell's kid! I know it was him!" accused Mr. Walker, making Harry jump at the sudden rise in the man's voice. "He was always sniffin' around in my lawn, on my property! Those parents let him parade around like he's better that everyone, they let him do whatever the fuck he wants! Back in my day, my father would have whooped me 'til my bum was as red as a tomato!"

"Look, Mr…." started Harry.

"Walker!"

"Mr. Walker, what proof do you have that it was the kid who stole your cat?" asked Harry.

Mr. Walker punched the table, making all of Harry's things shake violently. "Didn't I just tell you? The kid was always hanging around Lucy, luring her in, trying to take her! I caught him more than once giving her that disgusting canned tuna when he knows perfectly well that she only eats dry food!" he said that last part like it was his greatest offense and since Mr. Walker was a small 82-year-old unpleasant man, that was saying much.

"As significant as that is," said Harry. "It only proves that the kid likes the cat, not that he stole it."

"Lucy!" shouted the old man.

"I'm sorry?"

"Her name is Lucy!"

"Look, Mr. Walker, I understand that you're upset. But, with all due respect, your cat being missing-"

"She's not missing! She's been kidnapped!"

"Right. I understand that you're upset with your cat's kidnapping, but we don't put people, least of all, a child, in Azkaban for steal- kidnapping cats," said Harry. "Is it immoral? Probably. But is it illegal?" He shrugged. "Not so much."

Mr. Walker was quiet and Harry thought that maybe he had finally realized that barging in the Auror Department just because he woke up one day and his cat was gone, not only was a complete waste of everyone's time, but also ridiculous.

But luck was not on Harry's side.

"SLANDER! I DEMAND JUSTICE FOR LUCY! A CRIME HAS BEEN COMMINTED! I WANT THE PERSON RESPONSIBLE DUELY PUNISHED!" the old man was screaming so loud that all the department's attention was now on them. All the other Aurors stopped what they were doing in order to see what that racket was all about. They did not contain their laughter.

Yep, being an Auror in 2006 was pretty amazing. Harry was sure living the glamorous life.

"Sir, you have to understand that we don't have time to investigate every little thing that happens. We just don't have the resources." Harry was trying to calm the man down but to no avail. Even the Head Auror was now standing near Harry's cubicle, looking at the scene with an angry face.

"ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU DON'T HAVE THE RESROUCES TO INVESTIGATE A CRIME? ISN'T THAT YOUR JOB?"

"Yes, but a missing cat-"

"SLANDER! I KNEW THAT FAME HAD GONE TO YOUR HEAD! My wife always says that you're just an arrogant little prick, that maybe you didn't kill him like you said-"

Harry was beginning to feel a pretty nasty headache staring to form, so he was glad that the Head of the Department decided to intervene at that moment, refraining Harry from suggesting Mr. Walker exactly where to put his sodding cat.

"Excuse me, sir, but I have to steal Auror Potter for a moment. Something urgent just came up that needs his attention."

"What about my Lucy?!" complained Mr. Walker with visible outrage.

Harry's boss turned to the other Aurors who were watching the scene laughing.

"Longbottom!" called Robards with an authoritative voice.

"Yes, sir?"

"Take care of it." He turned to Mr. Walker whose face was so red, it looked like it was going to explode. "Auror Longbottom is an expert in these kinds of cases. He'll look into it."

Harry noticed, with satisfaction, that Neville Longbottom was not amused anymore.

Robards left and Harry followed him into his office.

"Close the door," ordered the Head Auror. "Sit down."

Harry did what he was told. His boss was silent for a while.

"Do you know how old I am, Potter?" he finally spoke.

Harry did not expect that. "Er… No."

"Sixty-five. Which means that I'm too old for this shit."

Harry waited for Robards to continue. "I plan on retiring soon. My wife is always saying that this work is slowly killing and I'm starting to feel that she may be right. I've been through two wars, seen a lot of evil and destruction. And even though things have been relatively peaceful these last couple of years, I feel… done."

Harry was so used to seeing Gawain Robards as an authoritative man, not afraid to get things done, that he was surprised by how tired he looked. Maybe he really was done.

Robards looked at Harry for the first time since he sat down. "The job's yours, you know." It wasn't a question. "You're the first in line in my list of potential substitutes."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't want it," Harry declined.

Robards gave him an intense look, very much like the ones Albus Dumbledore used to have. When he spoke, Harry thought that if he closed his eyes, he could almost see the Headmaster's blue eyes looking at him through those moon-shaped glasses.

"That's why you're perfect for it," Robards observed. "I need someone, who isn't only the best, but someone that won't be corrupted by power. And only someone who doesn't want power, deserves to have it."

"I like what I do," insisted Harry. "I need to be out in the field. If I take this job, I'm going to be swamped by paperwork, stuck in this office. I'll barley look out the window. It's a desk job. And I need the action, the thrill."

"You don't seem very motivated lately," Robards observed wisely.

Harry made a face. "Let's just say the field isn't what it used to be."

His boss took a deep breath before speaking. He seemed to be behaving patiently, a quality which was not usually associated with the Head of the Auror Department. Maybe this job was finally getting to him.

"I know the world is not what it used to be. Voldemort is gone, his followers are currently rotting away in Azkaban. But evil isn't gone. There's still plenty of crazy in this world. Like that case you solved, the woman in the bathtub."

Harry had been the lead investigator of what has come to be known as 'the bathtub woman murder'. A twenty-year-old woman was found dead in her bathtub, her body mutilated and face disfigured, leaving her completely unrecognizable. Aditya, a Junior Auror, fresh out of the Academy, had almost vomited on the scene.

Despite the rush and satisfaction that Harry got by solving that case, murders like that were scarce these days. Which was great. He would never wish Voldemort's return just because he was missing a little action. He was not a sadist.

"Congratulate yourself, enjoy the peace," suggested Robards. "I know you're not used to it, but this is a good thing. Relax, take a break, go on a holiday. I bet your girlfriend will be pleased."

He was right, of course. But break and holidays weren't part of his vocabulary. He liked the action. Maybe a bit too much.

Sometimes, lying awake at night, next to the sleeping figure of his girlfriend, Harry thought that maybe there was something wrong with him. Danger was like a magnet; he was drawn to it. What made others run, gave him a thrill. It was like an addiction.

You're a death junkie, Harry.

His girlfriend hated when his job put him in danger and he didn't blame her. He knew that when he left in the morning, she didn't rest until he came home at the end of the day. But she never once told him to quit, bless her. Never once made her choose between his job and her, to which he was grateful. There was an unspoken understanding between them. If you're happy I'm happy.

Harry knew it was sick, but he couldn't help it. Deep down, he still felt like that eleven-year-old boy, living in the cupboard under the stairs, with no idea of the magical world. Suffering the negligence from his aunt and uncle, being a punching bag for Duddley and his friends.

His thirst to prove to others – or was he trying to prove to himself? – took over him sometimes. To prove he was capable of learning magic, capable of defeating Voldemort. He wanted to prove that he was good enough to be an Auror, that he was more than the Boy-Who-Lived, that ending Voldemort was not due to luck, but to skill.

When Robards spoke again, he was back to his old surly self. "You can go back to your desk. And hold your tongue. I can't promote you if you talk like that."

Harry returned to his cubicle and noticed that Neville was the only one there, sitting on the opposite chair, where Mr. Walker had stood before.

"You're welcome," said his colleague. "I got rid of him for you."

"What did you do? Figure out who kidnapped the cat?" Harry asked, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"No," Neville decided to play along. "A shame really. It would've been a very exciting case. His wife showed up. Apologized profusely, said he had forgotten to close the door to the attic and the cat got in. Apparently, it was there the whole time," he shrugged.

"Case solved. You are the expert after all." Harry gave him a playful grin.

"I know, I'm brilliant." Neville faked a yawn. "Well, this case exhausted me." He stretched and got up, ready to leave. "It's six o'clock, already. I'm going home. Taking Hannah out to dinner tonight."

Harry let out a whistle. "Must be nice."

"Yeah, I'm going out with my girlfriend, have a great meal, cooked on the spot just for us. You should try it sometime" said Neville, smirking.

Harry gave him a mock-glare look. He saw his friend leave with a wistful expression. Maybe he should go home too. Spend some time with his girlfriend, open a bottle of wine, get her a nice massage and hoping she'll get the hint.

He looked at the stack of unfilled reports on his desk and sighed. Who was he kidding? He was going home much later and eat leftovers, like usual. His girlfriend would already be asleep so he would not get lucky tonight.

It's called being a workaholic, Harry, and it's a disease.

Harry arrived at the Ministry the next day, late, as usual. He spent the whole morning reading the reports from Azkaban, about a recent break in. He should really stop putting paperwork off.

His back ached from being in the same position for a long period of time, so he took his eyes off the reports and stretched, trying to relieve the tension.

He was so absorbed by his work that he didn't notice Lavender, the Department's receptionist, walking towards him.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said. "There's a woman here who wants to talk with an Auror."

"I'm busy. Have her talk with someone else," said Harry with annoyance. He was probably a bit rude but he wanted to get these reports done so he could go to lunch.

Lavender refused to get intimidated. "I would, but you're the only one here."

Harry took the eyes off his work and looked around him. He was, in fact, the only Auror still at the Headquarters. The rest had probably already gone to lunch.

"What does she want?" he asked begrudgingly.

"She won't tell me. Keeps saying non-sense," answered Lavender. "Looks rather distraught, a bit… not all there, if you know what I mean."

"And why is that?" asked Harry distractedly.

"Well, for starters, she keeps insisting on talking with the Head of the Department."

"And that means she's crazy?"

Lavender had a reputation around the Department for spreading gossip so Harry was not really keen on taking her word. But the receptionist didn't seem fazed by Harry's rudeness. "It does when she thinks the Head of the Department is Rufus Scrimgeour," she points out.

Harry groaned. Great, just what he needed right now. Some crazy person. Maybe her cat was kidnapped too.

He looked at the clock. One o'clock and fifty minutes. His stomach growled.

"I don't have time for crazy," he said. "Get rid of her."

Lavender Brown pouted. Actually, pouted. Like a kid trying to get a toy her mum has refused to buy. "Look, Harry, can't you just do me a solid here? I know you practically live here, but I have a life. I'm getting married next month and still haven't found a dress. Now, my mother is helping me choose one and this is the only time our schedules work. And you owe me."

Harry arched his eyebrow. "What for?"

"For the times I cover for you with Robards and say you're in Bristol interviewing a witness or some bull when you're probably still in your jammies at home." Lavender had a fierce look on her face, daring him to say another snarky comment.

Harry groaned inwardly. She was right, of course. He was always the last to leave the Department and the last to arrive. Mornings were tricky for him. He wasn't exactly punctual.

"Fine." He took his glasses off, cleaned them on his shirt and put them back on. "Send her in," he said, his attention already on the reports again. Let's get it over with.

Lavender left with a stupid grin on her face and, after a while, Harry felt a presence approach him. Thinking it was probably the crazy person Lavender warned him about, he addressed her in a monocordic voice, his eyes never leaving his desk. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Something happened. I don't know what it is, but everything's changed."

"What changed?"

"Everything! Everything is different. I don't recognize anyone and… Julie… The woman who brought me here, who is she? And what happened to Julie?"

Thinking this was something that was probably going to take a while, Harry lift his eyes from his work and focused them on the woman in front of him. She was clearly upset. Her hands kept moving in all directions. She was agitated and her eyes kept roaming around the cubicle, first, the Department, second, like she was looking for something.

"You mean Lavender?" Harry asked.

"I don't know her. And I know everybody who works here. I come here plenty of times. My friend works here." She was trying to look past Harry as if her friend was right around the corner. She looked frantic.

"Lavender Brown's been our receptionist for five years."

"That's impossible! I was here last week and Julie was here too. I came looking for my husband." She seemed to remember something suddenly. "He works here too!"

"Ma'am, what's your husband's name?" Harry was staring to worry. She looked really out of sorts. She could've been the victim of some curse. A Confundus, maybe. Or she's mentally ill.

The woman was still talking. "-but he's not here. He's… I don't know where he is… I want to speak to Rufus Scrimgeour."

Don't we all?

"The Minister of Magic is busy," said Harry. "And there's no one else here." The woman seemed to abandon her frantic search and her eyes fell on Harry. "I'm the only one you got, I'm afraid," Harry answered kindly.

"And who are you?" she asked with a confused look on her face.

Harry's smile faltered, his Auror senses spiking. Something isn't right.

"You don't know who I am?" he asked suspiciously.

"How can I? I've never seen you before in my life."

Now Harry was on full alert.

Taking the time to properly assess the woman in front of him, he saw that she was more than upset. Her eyes were wide, not only with confusion, but also with fear. She was scared. Her hands kept smoothing over her red hair in furious movements, as if she was trying to regain control over the situation.

He reached for the top drawer at this desk, grabbing a black piece of parchment and a quill. "What's your name, ma'am?"

"Lily."

Harry wrote the name down.

"Last name?" he asked.

"Potter. Lily Potter."

Harry's jaw fell.